


blue with the heart of a popsicle

by loveroflou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, D/s undertones, Daddy Kink, Feminine Harry, Feminization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Sick Harry, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles Friendship, for a millisecond, gender exploration and panties and bras and all that good lovely stuff, only for a second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveroflou/pseuds/loveroflou
Summary: They wash their hands in a fountain that ends up soaking water through their clothes as well, and when they’re done giggling like children over that while the parents of the actual children glare at them as they try to push their kids away from the spraying water they stand dumbly under the sun to dry, their entwined hands swinging between them as people stare on.or, harry is louis’ baby. they figure it out.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, zayn/liam (referenced)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 88





	blue with the heart of a popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> i think we’ve established i’m productive on the wrong things when i’m stressed so here’s this my exam is in three days and i haven’t studied shit
> 
> based on the poem [14 lines from love letters or suicide notes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iy4cEW15SdE)
> 
> title is from the book of two ways by jodi picoult which i haven’t read but i’ve had this one paragraph stuck in my head for weeks now so why not throw a random phrase from it in for a title

_1\. Don’t freak out._

“Louis,” Jay says on the other side of the line, and when Louis blinks he notices the hot tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “Don’t freak out. It’s just a fever.”

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Louis nods and lets it out slowly. “Okay,” he says. His heart is still in his throat.

“You’ve given him the medicine, right?” She pauses until he affirms, and when he does she continues, “Alright. The fever should break in about thirty minutes. Help him take a cold shower and eat something, right now.”

“Okay,” Louis says again, a little dumbly. He swallows, running his fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. His mum reminds him that she loves him and to call her if he needs anything else before she hangs up, and Louis stares at Harry’s furrowed eyebrows for a minute before finally moving when he feels him lean into the warmth of his palm.

“Baby,” he coaxes softly, scratching at Harry’s scalp. Harry makes a quiet noise that’s between a groan and a sob, and Louis thinks he might cry. Harry’s nose twitches, his eyes still glued shut with exhaustion. Louis rubs the sweat off his forehead with the tip of his thumb. “Darling, c’mon, sit up for me, please.”

He helps him from his lying position gently, arms careful as they wrap around Harry’s trembling shoulders to pull him up, and Harry immediately seeks comfort in tucking his nose against Louis’ collarbone, dainty hands coming up to clutch the base of Louis’ hoodie.

“Cold,” he slurs. “M’head hurts.”

Louis shushes him with a kiss to his burning forehead, clasping his hands over Harry’s. “Want me to draw you a bath?” he murmurs into the air between them, tightening his hold on Harry when he sways dangerously to the side like if Louis lets go of him he’ll either fall back onto the sweat-soaked sheets or tumble off the side of the bed. “Yeah? It’ll make you feel better.”

Louis’ heart is thumping so loudly against his ribcage he wonders if Harry can hear it, and Harry’s hands are shaking where they clutch to Louis’ shoulders, legs wrapped half-heartedly around Louis’ waist as Louis shuffles them both to the bathroom and deposits Harry in the tub as carefully as he can.

He starts to fill the bathtub, fingers dipping under the stream of water to check its temperature, stopping only when Harry whimpers something that Louis thinks is supposed to be his name.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice barely audible with how soft it is.

Harry wraps his arms around his legs, pulled up against his chest. “Clothes.”

“Let’s keep them on,” Louis tells him. “You can change into clean ones when you’re done with your bath.”

Humming in answer, Harry sits his cheek atop his knees, closing his eyes again. He’s useless when the tub is filled to the brim and tickling his jaw, and Louis smiles fondly, scooping water up with a discarded cup and dumping it gently over Harry’s matted curls after covering his eyes with the back of his hand.

Harry’s slightly more coherent twenty minutes later, but Louis still carries him out of the tub after draining it out and wrapping him up in the softest towel he finds. He mumbles garbled nonsense into the golden skin of Louis’ neck as Louis helps him into a fresh set of pyjamas, sounding a lot like a little kid.

It sends warmth as soft as honey spreading through Louis’ chest, and he kisses the crown of Harry’s head before helping him onto the bed again.

“Sleep?” Harry mumbles with a yawn muffled into his hand, smacking his lips.

Louis shakes his head. He leans in and pushes a stray curl back behind Harry’s ear before feeling his forehead. “Not yet, honey,” he says quietly, the last jitters of his hands dripping out at the reassurance that the medication is working. “Gotta get some food into you first. Think you can keep anything down, now?”

Harry leans into Louis’ hand still caressing the side of his face, and Louis’ too concerned to worry whether or not he sounds too infatuated. He nods faintly, blinking his eyes open and whining when Louis retracts his hand.

Louis kisses his head again to make up for it. “I’ll make some soup,” he presses against the dampness of Harry’s chocolate curls. “Be right back.”  
  
_2\. We both know this have been coming for a long time._

Niall’s laughter is too loud in the small restaurant, and when the waiter turns to look in the direction of their table Harry leans closer to Louis’ side of the booth, bumping his nose against his shoulder as he tries to hide. The blush on his face only darkens when Louis sneaks a hand between their bodies to press reassuringly over Harry’s right thigh, fingertips lingering for a moment too long before he pulls away.

Zayn shoots him a look when they opt out on dessert to leave early, hand in hand, and Harry only shakes his head as he follows Louis outside. Everyone is convinced they’re fucking, for some reason.

They share an ice cream cone from a vendor on the way home then take the opposite turn instead of retreating back to their apartment complex. Louis insists that Harry has the last bite, and Harry hums happily around the crisp of the biscuit, green eyes fond as they watch the expressions on Louis’ face as he blabbers on about something that happened at work the day before.

“What?” he huffs when he notices, but his lips tug up into a sheepish grin and the frown smooths from his eyebrows when Harry laughs, bumping their hips together.

“Nothing,” he says, squeezing Louis’ hand. Louis squeezes right back, like a promise. Harry clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop the laughter when he says, “Please, continue. Why are you planning your co-worker’s murder?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Piss off,” he mumbles, his voice losing its sharp edge completely at the sound of Harry’s giggles.

“You love me,” Harry breathes, unthinking.

“Doubt that,” Louis says, and when Harry looks up at the sky, star-free tonight, he feels Louis’ eyes boring into the side of his face. “Have you ever wished on a shooting star?” he asks after a long moment of silence, and Harry shakes his head, turning to blink at him.

Louis hums. His thumb is moving in soothing circles over Harry’s hand.

Harry asks, “Have you?” and Louis huffs out a laugh.

“Once,” he says, “when I was little, I wished for a new football for my birthday and for Mum to be happy forever.” Harry coos, and Louis pushes him lightly to make him laugh. “And once, a couple of months after I met you.”

Harry’s fingers tingle. “What’d you wish for then?”

Louis shoots him a look like he’s stupid. “I can’t tell you or else it won’t come true, Harold.” Before Harry can argue, he adds, “Let’s go home. I bought that movie you said you wanted to watch,” and Harry lets himself be dragged forward.

_3\. I’ve been staying awake at night wondering if I should tell you._

Harry went to sleep exactly forty-six minutes ago. Louis knows because that was when he’d last heard his footsteps shuffling quietly on the floor next door. He tosses around in bed again, huffing when he loses at the game he was playing on his phone and throwing it to the side to blink up at the ceiling.

With a groan, he finally lets himself think about Harry, _really_ think about him. They’ve known each other for a little longer than three years now, ever since Harry moved to the flat next to Louis’, and even though all their friends were convinced they’re dating about a month in they’ve never even kissed.

It’s not like Louis doesn’t want to kiss him, it’s mostly just that he’s a coward. There are days, like today, when he feels Harry’s eyes lingering on his lips as he speaks and the way he presses himself so close to Louis he’s almost sitting fully on his lap by the end of the night.

There are days, though, when Harry’ll look snug and comfortable in anyone else’s lap, and there’s nothing Louis can do but clench his fists by his sides when Harry blinks his doe eyes innocently at whoever has their hands wrapped tightly around his waist.

Louis lets himself think about how the green of Harry’s eyes is his favourite colour, now, and how his lips are always a cherry red that makes Louis want to lick them into his mouth and nibble on them until they’re glossy with spit and swollen. He imagines Harry sitting on top of him – has given up on chastising himself for how weird that is about six months into knowing Harry – grinning lopsidedly with his eyes crinkled around the edges, dimples poking in his cheeks.

Harry’s lips are soft and plush against his, the strawberry pink of his lip balm making their kiss sticky and slightly artificial-tasting. Louis tugs at his hair to feel him whimper against his mouth before guiding his head gently so Harry would settle his chin atop Louis’ shoulder, his weight on top of Louis’ chest lulling him into the hazy space of just before sleep.

He throws the pillow off his tummy and groans into the comforter before switching the lights off and smothering his face in the sheets.  
  
_4\. I bought the kind of crackers you can eat. They are in the hall cupboard._

There’s a note taped on the fridge that wasn’t there when Louis left for work this morning. Frowning, Louis reaches for it, rolling his eyes when he immediately recognises the handwriting.

_was running some errands earlier and got some of those cookies you like. they’re in the cupboard._

Only Harry would break into his house to restock on his favourite cookies. Louis smiles, his hand reaching up to brush his chestnut fringe out of his eyes. The star and smiley face doodles in the margins make his fingertips tingle as a ball of fondness bursts in his chest, and Louis tucks the paper away with all the other little notes Harry always leaves for him everywhere.

He hums along to the song bursting through the wall from Harry’s flat as he changes out into a hoodie and some well-worn sweatpants, putting the kettle on and retrieving a fresh sticky note from the drawer beside the kitchen sink.

Harry’s hippie music stops abruptly with Louis’ knock at his door, and Louis slips back into his flat before Harry can come out. It’s not long before he hears Harry peel the sticky paper off the rich wood of the door and scoff, Louis muffling his giggles into soft sweater paws.

_next time you break into my house im calling the cops. creep_  
  
_5\. Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next._

The movie’s credits rolled about two hours ago, and Harry’s feet are in Louis’ lap. Louis is tracing a thumb over his socked ankle distractedly as he thumbs through his phone, and the motion is soothing enough that it’s almost lulling Harry to sleep.

Harry hums sleepily at Louis’ call of his name, only blinking his eyes open when Louis traces the bridge of his nose with the tip of his pointer finger.

“What’re y’doing?” he mumbles, leaning into the touch when Louis’ hand settles on his cheek, thumb pressing right under his eye.

“You wanna go to bed?” Louis asks softly, looping Harry’s curls around his fingers and scratching at his scalp like he knows it’ll make him purr.

Harry shakes his head. “Here’s warm,” he murmurs in explanation, letting his eyes slip shut and whining quietly when Louis’ fingers stop. He feels Louis’ laughter against the side of his face, but he starts playing with his hair again so Harry doesn’t open his eyes.

“Okay, sleepyhead,” he says in a whisper before dumping himself on top of Harry.

Harry’s eyes shoot open, his hands heavy as they come up to wrap around Louis’ waist instinctively. “Lou,” he starts to say, but Louis shushes him, digging his nose against the side of Harry’s neck.

“Sleep.”

Harry can feel Louis’ heart beating, _beating,_ or maybe it’s Harry’s own. He tightens his arms around Louis, feels Louis kiss over his pulse point in answer.

They fall asleep tangled up in each other.  
  
_6\. I always imagined this would happen without warning, like suddenly on an ocean cliff side, but this is the kind of thing where waiting for the time to be right would just mean waiting forever._

His lacy top flutters against his tummy with the cool breeze of the wind, and Louis’ hand is warm in his own. Harry’s tongue is blue with the Popsicle dripping sticky sweetness on his fingers, and the stray hairs slipping from his tiny twin braids stick to the sides of his mouth.

Louis pushes them out for him with his own sticky fingers, making an even bigger mess, not that Harry minds. They wash their hands in a fountain that ends up soaking water through their clothes as well, and when they’re done giggling like children over that while the parents of the actual children glare at them as they try to push their kids away from the spraying water they stand dumbly under the sun to dry, their entwined hands swinging between them as people stare on.

The small shop on the side of the road has flowers lining its glass windows. Harry drags them in its direction with shy enthusiasm, Louis letting himself be led, squeezing Harry’s hand reassuringly. It has small trinkets and glossy, glitter-filled jars lining the seafoam painted walls, as well as lines of rainbow coloured nail varnish and soft-looking hoodies stacked to the side that Harry thinks it would be cool to buy from for both Louis and himself.

“The white ones?” Louis asks, following Harry’s line of sight and nodding at the hoodies. Harry nods, grinning at him and pulling Louis to the other side of the shop. The hoodies in question are an off-white thing that almost looks creamy, with a bright illustration of fruit patterns on, and Harry knows Louis would never buy something like that for himself but he doesn’t stop him when Harry picks two out and stuffs them into the cart he grabbed from by the door.

Harry could kiss him.

They find sunflower shaped hair pins and fishnets that Harry throws into their cart too, and whilst Louis goes to grab a bottle of black nail polish for himself Harry stands thumbing hesitantly over panties on a small stand, his eyes flitting again and again to the bras on the stand next to it.

He jumps when Louis comes up behind him, tucking his face over Harry’s shoulder. “Y’want anything?”

Harry hesitates before shaking his head.

Louis doesn’t move. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, like he knows, and his lips on Harry’s skin makes him shiver, body melting against Louis’ chest.

“Don’t laugh,” Harry whispers, nodding a little when Louis says _I’d never._ His heart is thumping madly up in his throat and his cheeks are the red of strawberries when he points at the bra stand with a shaky finger. “Um, d’you think those would look ok on me?”

Humming, Louis steps back and aside to inspect them before looking back at Harry. “Look at me,” he says, and his voice is gentle but Harry knows an order when he hears one. He can tell the green of his eyes is glossy when Louis’ smile turns even softer, his hand coming up to cradle Harry’s face.

It’s not like Harry’s never thought about it, because he did, does so every time he buys a new pair of panties. He’s just never done anything with all those thoughts but stuff them far, far into the back of his head.

“It’s okay,” Louis promises.

“Okay,” he breathes, nuzzling into his hand and nodding.

Louis nods back. “Alright then,” he says, pulling back. Harry misses his warmth immediately. “Which ones do you want?”

Harry ends up buying just the one, a delicate little bra that’s white with red cherry prints and light ruffles around the edges, as well as matching panties. Louis insists on paying for everything, something about Harry being brave that Harry’s too giddy to call bullshit.

His chest is warm like freshly molten milk chocolate, the dusty red high on his cheekbones doesn’t feel like it’ll go away any time soon and the blue of Louis’ eyes is fond from where he’s looking at him. Harry’s head is the tiniest bit fuzzy as Louis takes his hand and guides him outside with their bags clutched in his other hand.

When Harry’s legs start itching with the beginning of sunburn, Louis drags them to the nearest pharmacy, blabbing the whole way there about how he should’ve at least been careful if he wanted to wear shorts. He sits Harry on a bench in the shade and applies the sunscreen on for him anyway, tucking the bottle of aloe vera they’ll undoubtedly need later into one of their bags.

Harry feels so little and cherished and lovely, and when Louis catches his eyes the glare on his face melts into a fond, gentle smile that has Harry clutching at the bench lest he floats off.  
  
_7\. I’ve just been too afraid for too long._

Harry is sober, Louis can tell. He can tell Harry knows he’s sober too, he’s been watching him all night. There are people Louis’ never met before tonight dancing on the makeshift dance floor that’s Niall’s living room, and Niall is hopping around from person to person excitedly offering everyone more drinks.

Louis accepts his fourth cup of the night with a smile, and his eyes are on Harry’s when, after Niall leaves, he pushes it to the side without taking a sip.

Someone stumbles in front of Harry, blocking Louis’ view of him. Louis doesn’t think about how quickly he goes over, pushing himself next to Harry and staring the guy down.

The man scowls. “Do you mind?” he slurs, settling a large hand on Harry’s thigh.

Rolling his eyes, Louis takes Harry’s hand in his and drags him after him through the house and up the stairs, retrieving the key to Niall’s bedroom from where it’s sitting in plain sight by the foot of the door and pushing them into the room before locking the door again.

Harry’s glaring at him when Louis turns around. “What are you doing,” he says, more a statement than a question. “What if I wanted him there?”

Louis rolls his eyes again. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, really? And you know that how exactly?”

“Harry,” Louis says calmly despite the fire licking up in his chest. “Don’t be difficult.”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m leaving,” he says, moving around Louis to reach the door. He makes no move to free himself from Louis’ hold when Louis grips the back of his sheer black shirt, his body falling pliant instead. “ _Do something,_ ” he bites out when neither of them moves. “You can’t be a possessive freak and then not do anything about it–”

Louis slams him against the door a little too harshly, swallowing his gasp. Harry melts into the touch instantly, digging his painted nails into Louis’ shoulders and humming against his mouth, forcing Louis to slow the kiss down.

He can feel nothing but the softness of Harry’s lips against his own chapped ones and the silkiness of Harry’s hair looped around his fingers. When he tugs experimentally Harry whimpers, and it makes Louis smile as he leans to press kisses to the corner of Harry’s mouth and down to his jaw.

“Louis,” Harry groans, huffing when Louis laughs against his chin before kissing it. “Kiss me.”

Louis leans back to look him in the eye, his tummy twisting in on itself when he sees how glazed over Harry’s eyes are already. “I am kissing you,” he says, his smile smug.

Harry shakes his head. “Kiss me proper.” His hands cup Louis’ cheeks, but when he tries to pull him in again Louis stays rooted in his spot.

“Say please.”

Harry’s shoulders droop, and when he blinks it’s slow. Still, he breathes out, “No.”

Louis hums. “Say please,” he repeats, like he doesn’t want to snog him until both of them are gasping for air and then some.

Harry’s eyes glaze over the tiniest bit more, and Louis’ eyes follow the harsh bobbing of his Adam’s apple when he gulps.

“Please. Kiss me, _please._ ”

Louis’ kissing him before Harry’s done breathing the words out.  
  
_8\. I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs that I own stacked in a tower in the centre of my kitchen. I don’t know how long they had been like that but it can only be me that did it. It’s the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment._

Harry hears Zayn’s voice before he sees him.

“Babe? Where are – oh.”

Like a gentleman, Zayn knocks on his sloppily put together blanket fort before pushing the side of a blanket out of the way. “May I come in?” he asks, his voice soft.

Harry sniffles, nodding faintly.

“Why’d you build this up in the kitchen?” Zayn asks when he lets himself inside, leaning back against a chair and patting the pillows beneath him before settling comfortably. His golden eyes turn sad when he sees Harry’s puffy face and the tears still dripping from his eyes to collect at his jaw. “Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms.

Harry almost trips and falls face-first in his haste to press himself as close to Zayn as possible, tucking his nose against his neck and bursting into choked sobs and frantic tears when Zayn starts to run his fingers gently through his hair.

Zayn only pulls him closer, whispering soft little nothings against the crown of his head and tightening his arms around him. He’s singing lowly when Harry’s sobs are reduced to quiet sniffles and damp, bloodshot eyes.

Harry melts further against his chest, snuggling closer. He remembers Zayn singing to him time and time again years ago when they were only little kids and then so many times again growing up, and the familiarity helps him even his breathing, now.

Zayn kisses the top of his head. “What happened, princess?”

“Louis’ mad at me,” Harry mumbles poutily, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. He feels Zayn’s laughter against the side of his face. “You’re not supposed to laugh!”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m sorry, baby. Why is Louis mad at you?”

Harry huffs. “’M not your baby if you’re going to laugh at me.”

“You’re _always_ going to be my baby,” he murmurs, and the reassurance brings a smile to Harry’s face. “Who else is going to sing you to sleep and then fight the dickheads going around breaking your heart?”

“You like Louis,” Harry says matter-of-factly.

Zayn nods. “I do. I’ll still kill him for making you cry.”

Nuzzling against his neck, Harry shakes his head ‘no’. “Don’t kill him, please.”

“You don’t wanna tell me what happened?”

Harry closes his eyes. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he says. His lack of sleep must finally be catching up with him because he yawns. “Are you leaving?”

“You know I’m staying,” Zayn murmurs, scratching gently at Harry’s scalp. “Go to sleep, baby girl.”

Smiling, Harry whispers, “You never call me that anymore.” He perks up a bit, turning around slightly to look up at Zayn. “Do you call Liam that?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No.”

Harry doesn’t relent. “Do you call him daddy, then?”

“Not everyone goes around calling their boyfriends daddy, Hazza,” Zayn says, amused, shooting him a knowing look, and Harry feels his face flush the red of strawberries. “Now sleep.”

“Kissy,” Harry orders, pursing his lips.

“Don’t think your boyfriend will appreciate that,” he murmurs against Harry’s mouth, but he cups the side of his face and kisses him anyway, keeping the press of their lips soft. Harry doesn’t correct him, and when Zayn adds, “Maybe I’ll call you baby girl all the time now, just to piss him off,” he’s almost asleep.  
  
_9\. My grandmother was still alive when I was 5 years old and she asked me to check and see if the iron was hot enough yet so I pressed my hand against it and it was red and screaming for hours. 25 years later, she would still sometimes apologise in the middle of conversations; “I feel so bad about making you touch the iron,” she’d say, as though it had just happened. I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn’t say until it was too late. But how else do you tell if something is hot but to touch it?_

The note taped to the front door is the colour of peach, and Louis plucks it off wearily. He tucks it into the note drawer and starts on a cup of tea, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. After he’s downed his tea and burnt his tongue and the roof of his throat, Louis lets himself doze off under the steaming stream of the shower head, dumping himself on the cool sheets of the bed face-first after throwing a hoodie and boxers on.

Louis wakes up to his alarm ringing, and he has half a mind to smack it against the wall and roll over and back to sleep, but he forces himself awake with heavy blinks and a groan. His eyes are barely open as he nurses another cup of tea, slowly this time, the steam calming from where it’s hitting his face.

Harry’s in an oversized shirt and knee high socks when he opens the door to let Louis into his flat, and Louis offers him a small, half a smile. He looks away from the huge pink bow tying Harry’s hair in a ponytail and crouches down to push his Vans off of his feet.

They eat sizzling hot lasagna in a semi awkward silence that hangs in the air over their heads even when they try to break it with small talk about their weeks.

Harry sighs tiredly, pushing his plate away and catching Louis’ eyes before directing his gaze to where his fingers are drumming on his thigh. Louis’ heart is rabbiting so quickly in his chest he thinks he might get sick.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says finally, his eyes flicking up to catch Louis’ wide ones again. “I didn’t – that was wrong of me. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Louis blinks. His anger has long since faded, and it’s only been about a week since their fight but he’s missed Harry so badly.

“I’m sorry too,” he says quietly, the hitch of Harry’s breath loud between them. “I knew you were like, teasing.” His voice comes out muffled with the hands he presses over his face. “I’m sorry for getting mad so quickly. I was having a bad day, but that still doesn’t make it alright.”

Harry looks like he’s a moment away from crying, and when Louis pulls him to his chest he does. Louis’ heart calms down slowly as Harry’s breathing evens out against his ear, and he doesn’t stop petting the top of his head, fingers tangling in his ponytail, until Harry pulls away to look at him, taking a deep breath.

He kisses Louis’ palm when Louis thumbs at his cheeks to brush the hot tears off, and it makes Louis’ heart swell in his chest, warm honey flooding his body.

“Okay?” he asks softly, pulling Harry into a gentle kiss when he nods.

“Harry,” Louis whispers four days later, pushing closer to Harry’s side on the couch. He hopes the tremor in his voice isn’t too obvious. “Be my boyfriend.”

Harry doesn’t look at him, but Louis can see his face turning cherry red in the dim lights of the room. Louis’ fingertips are tingling.

“I prefer girlfriend,” he says with a lopsided grin, and he’s so ridiculously lovely and Louis’ so giddy he pulls him to his chest and kisses him until their lips are swollen and they’re gasping for air against each other’s mouths.  
  
_10\. I keep imagining my furniture in your apartment._

“Lou?” Harry says softly, knocking on the front door before unlocking it and peeking his head in. “Are you there?”

He hears a muffled ‘in the bedroom!’ and follows the sound of Louis’ voice, the patter of his feet hushed on the hardwood of the floor.

“Hey,” Louis says softly when Harry pushes his bedroom door open. His face creases into a frown at the look on Harry’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Harry pouts. “I can’t find my floral-print hoodie.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “You left it here a couple days ago,” he says slowly, like if he doesn’t Harry might throw a tantrum. “I put it in the wash.”

“What!” Harry reaches forward and, like a toddler, hits Louis’ knee with a fist over and over until Louis starts laughing and catches his hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “I looked everywhere, you should’ve told me!”

“How was I supposed to know you were looking for it? You didn’t tell me,” Louis says, laughter colouring his tone still. Harry jumps onto the bed and tucks his face into Louis’ side, biting his clothed shoulder gently.

“Oi,” Louis scolds, but he doesn’t move away. “Behave.”

Harry smiles against the cotton smothering his face. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

Louis hums. He’s back to scrolling through his phone when he says, calmly, “Bad boys get punished.”

Harry gasps, and when he sees Louis’ fingers twitch he pushes his phone from his hands and settles not so gracefully in its place in Louis’ lap. “Are you going to spank me?” he asks, blinking coquettishly, biting down a smile when Louis’ grip on his waist tightens.

“Maybe,” Louis breathes against his mouth before kissing him, surprisingly slow and sweet. “Or maybe I’ll just kidnap you and all your things and keep you with me forever.”  
  
_11\. I wonder how many likes this will get on Facebook._

“Get out!” Louis says over the voice of Harry’s laughter, and Harry’s face is so red he looks like he’s about to fall to his knees and cry. “Out, go back to your own house. Get out of my kitchen!”

He wheezes out, “ _How_ did you even manage to burn a toast that bad?” before Louis manages to push him out and lock the door.

Truthfully, he just forgot about it, but he wasn’t about to tell Harry that. It’s a miracle the whole kitchen didn’t catch on fire.

It’s about an hour later that Harry’s knocking on his door, and when Louis lets him in there’s a scowl on his face. “What.”

Harry smiles. “I cooked you dinner. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, kissing Louis’ cheek. “Now stop pouting.”

Louis raises an unamused eyebrow. “You wanted to take a picture of the toast and post it online.”

Harry’s smile turns sheepish. “I made you raisin cookies?” he tries, voice lilting over by the end like a question.

“Did you?” Louis asks, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.

“Yes,” Harry says, nodding for extra emphasis. “They’re cooling in the kitchen.”

Digging his pointer finger into Harry’s chest, Louis says, “Promise never to make fun of my cooking again.” Harry bites his lip, like he’s stifling a laugh. “Promise,” Louis says again, a little more forcefully.

When he finally promises, Louis sighs like this is a hardship for him. Harry rolls his eyes even as he says, “Can I have a kiss now, please?”

Louis pauses to contemplate it for a minute before he shakes his head. “Bad boys don’t get kisses. Can I have my cookies now?”  
  
_12\. My dad always used to tell the same joke but I can’t remember the punchline._

“ _What_ are you even talking about?”

Harry pouts, and Louis’ heart stumbles on a beat in his chest. “It was funny,” he says.

Louis shakes his head, his thumb digging into Harry’s side from where he’s perched on his lap. “No,” he says slowly, softly, like he’s talking to a baby, “it really wasn’t.”

“You’re _supposed_ to laugh,” Harry scowls, squishing Louis’ face between his hands in what Louis thinks is supposed to be some sort of punishment. “What else am I dating you for?”

“Because I’m amazing and I take the best care of you, obviously,” Louis says easily, leaning forward to press a kiss to Harry’s jaw.

Harry mumbles, “Only one of these is true,” under his breath, guiding Louis’ face with a delicate hand to kiss him properly. Louis pulls away from it, pressing a palm to Harry’s mouth when he whines – sounding so much like a kitten that Louis’ heart swells – trying to chase Louis’ taste again.

“I do take good care of you,” Louis says, but even to his own ears it sounds like a question.

Harry’s eyes soften, and he purses his lips in a muffled kiss to the back of Louis’ hand. “You do,” he whispers, nodding as best as he can.

Louis pauses for a breath before his blue eyes narrow, his hand silencing Harry’s giggles. “Fine,” he declares, and he doesn’t sound offended in the slightest but Harry doesn’t call him out on it. “Good luck finding someone more amazing than me, then.”

Harry’s kissing wetly all over his face before Louis can punctuate his sentence with a scoff.  
  
_13\. I was 8 years old and it took 3 weeks (3 8 yr. old weeks, imagine) to gather everything that I would need to be Batman. Rope, boomerang, a Mardi Gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn’t find a cave near my house, so I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy. For years after, I tried to find that spot again. The ivy grew too fast. I searched in so many spots. It seemed impossible that I had missed one. But I never found it. How can something be there, and then not be there? How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?_

The gloss is a soft pink that accentuates the natural cotton candy pink of Harry’s bow lips when he puts it on, and he pushes his lips together before parting them again and exhaling. His breathing leaves a blotch of slowly receding steam on the mirror, fogging his reflection.

The cherry-print bra presses comfortably against his chest, the panties sitting snugly against his hips making him giddy. He brushes his curls to the side and out of his eyes, securing them to the side with a pin.

Goosebumps pebble the freshly shaved skin of his arms and his legs, and Harry isn’t quite sure if it’s from the cluster of emotions swirling up in his tummy and chest or the cool breeze of the air con. He dabs a faint, glittery gloss over the centre of his bottom lip to match the glitter on his eyelids and that on his red painted nails.

When his phone pings he jumps, has to blink unexplainable wetness from his eyes to read the message on the screen.

“You have to promise not to laugh,” he says out loud, pushing his fingertips against his closed bedroom door. Louis shuffles around on the other side, like he’s standing up. He says nothing about Harry kicking him out of his room twenty minutes ago.

“You _know_ I won’t laugh,” he murmurs, and yeah, Harry knows. His tummy is twisting with nerves, though, and he can’t stop tapping at the wood frame. “I’d never laugh at you, baby. I promise.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes on an exhale. There’s a long pause before he says again, “Okay.”

Louis hums softly. “Can I come in, princess?”

His blue eyes stay glued to Harry’s green when he steps in, gentle hands coming up to cradle Harry’s face. Quietly, he asks, “Can I see?”

Harry’s just – his chest feels so warm, stomach calming slowly but surely at the pure fondness in Louis’ eyes. “Can I have a kiss, first?” he breathes, voice barely a murmur, and Louis smiles, obliging happily. Harry nods, then, nuzzling into Louis’ hand. “Okay.”

“I didn’t get these for you,” Louis says, thumbing at Harry’s hair pins before stepping back to take him in, his mouth dropping open, only slightly. Harry forces himself not to squirm under the attention.

“Zee helped me pick them out,” he answers, even though Louis looks like he’s forgotten the question, because he only hums, running the tip of his pointer finger over Harry’s arm.

Harry shivers.

“Is this – does – um, do I look okay?” Harry asks hesitantly when Louis stays silent, openly gaping at him. Maybe he should’ve kept all of this locked in the lavender box under his bed, after all. “Lou?”

“ _God,_ ” Louis breathes, finally taking Harry’s face in his hands and kissing him, like if he doesn’t he might die. Harry gasps against his mouth, freshly manicured hands coming up to clutch at Louis’ shoulders as his heart leaps in his chest and the uneven blush on his face spreads to disappear beneath his collarbones.

Louis’ arms slip past his bum to carry him up, Harry letting out a surprised squeak before wrapping his legs around Louis’ waist only to be thrown on his bed a moment later. He shushes Harry’s call of his name with a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ve got you,” he says, and Harry trusts him. He trusts him to know this isn’t, like, a _sexual_ thing, but part of who Harry is.

Louis doesn’t disappoint.

He kisses every inch of Harry’s face, and his lips are gentle, kisses hazy and soft enough to calm the racing of Harry’s heart. His body melts further into the white sheets with every hushed word of praise Louis kisses into his skin, and Louis doesn’t stop.

Slowly, so slowly, he covers every inch of Harry’s bare skin with kisses and a genuine compliment with every other kiss until he’s kissing back over his face again, his fingertips skirting over Harry’s upper belly, just under his bra.

When Harry kisses, “I love you,” to Louis’ jaw it comes naturally, and his head and chest are too fuzzy with a soft pink for him to even think about fretting over it.

Louis kisses his lips again, his warm body blanketing Harry’s. “I love you too.”

It feels like safety.

_14\. I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them, but thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them._

“These, H,” Zayn says, pointing at a set of bed sheets that’s something in between a hot pink and a fuchsia. They’ll probably look absolutely ridiculous on his bed and clash horribly with the gentle, pale purple aesthetic of his room, and Harry thinks that makes them perfect.

He buys them.

They grab a late lunch in Harry’s favourite restaurant that’s a little like a hole-in-the-wall from the outside but is actually quite posh on the inside, catching up over glasses of cranberry juice that Harry doesn’t stop pretending are wine even after Zayn’s fourth fond eye roll.

Harry insists they get their frozen yoghurts in the biggest cup size, and when he finishes his own pomegranate and chocolate cup he eats Zayn’s vanilla one too. His hand is sticky when he grabs Zayn’s and entwines their fingers, swinging their hands between them like a child, and Zayn doesn’t scold him for it so Harry presses a sticky-sweet kiss to his cheek as well.

“Am I not allowed kisses anymore?” Harry asks with a sulky pout when Zayn drops him off at his house, only turning around to leave when Harry’s inside his flat.

Zayn turns back, raising his eyebrows. “You have a boyfriend,” he says, like Harry could forget.

Harry huffs. “ _You_ have a boyfriend, and you always kissed me anyway.”

Zayn’s grin is fond when he shakes his head. “Liam doesn’t mind, you know that.” He raises a hand when Harry opens his mouth. “Talk to Louis first. So that there are no misunderstandings. You remember how everyone thought we were dating in high school, right?”

“Yeah, right.” Harry nods. “Can I have a hug, then?” he asks shyly, sighing happily into Zayn’s neck when he pulls him to his chest for a cuddle.

“Text me a picture of the room when you change the sheets,” he orders when he pulls away, and Harry’s a proud girl when he does so a half an hour later. Zayn texts back that they look great, but they really don’t, and Harry absolutely _adores_ them but he can practically see Zayn dying of laughter in his head.

Louis comes over sleepy and exhausted after his evening shift, and when he dumps himself on Harry’s bed he blinks himself awake just long enough to say, “Your sheets are all pretty,” his voice honey-sweet and genuine, before pulling Harry to his chest and falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos comment or just read it and have fun this was fun to write even though it’s so messy bc i finished it super quick  
> please pray that i pass my exams thank u and come find me on [tumblr](https://loveroflou.tumblr.com/) (and [here](https://loveroflou.tumblr.com/post/642318675667517440/blue-with-the-heart-of-a-popsicle-69k-they-wash) is the tumblr post)


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